Freezing air enveloped them as a breeze drifted between the towers, the air seeming to cling to their bodies in a cold embrace. As they slowly approached the end of the buildings, both the German commander and the Romanian quartermaster lowered themselves to the ground, unwilling to provide a target to anyone observing from the city or eastern banks of the river. Lying just behind the crest of the rubble, they slowly edged forward until they could just see over the debris and broken cement, wary of exposing themselves to possible fire.
Tatu’s eyes widened in shock as he took in the sight before him. On the left, the city waterfront stretched out before them following the river bend, the burning buildings lighting up the snow and ice that stretched from the walls that bordered the city to the water’s edge. Gunfire and explosions echoed distantly from around the bend in the river to their left as the ferocious fighting in the lower suburbs continued into the evening.
The flames’ reflections flickered off the waves of the freezing river as it flowed southwards, carrying debris and bodies with the strong tide. Set into the waterfront walls were a variety of piers and jetties, the wooden and metal support pillars embedded in the frozen ice and snow. Their distance from the flowing water now up to a hundred metres due to the freezing temperatures. The ice slowly encroaching towards and into the water from either side as temperatures dropped further, increasing the strength of the water’s flow and undercurrent.
On the east side of the river, opposite the city and hidden from view in trees and dispersed between the few buildings, the flashes from Russian artillery and Katyusha rocket batteries fired sporadically towards Stalingrad. The subsequent explosions sending dust, debris and broken bodies into the air as they landed throughout the streets and atop buildings in the ravaged city. Flashes as high explosive rounds landed across the city lit up the night sky occasionally causing buildings to topple, burying and crushing soldiers and civilians alike in the ruined remains. There would be no one to rescue such casualties and many would be attacked and consumed by the rodents or vermin that now roamed the city unchecked.
Occasionally, further north, shells would land to the east or on the iced bank of the river. The German batteries desperately attempting to deter or hit Russian reinforcements or boats preparing to cross the Volga with equipment or supplies. Firing at known or suspected boarding points on the water’s edge, the power of the Wehrmacht artillery now severely reduced as ammunition rationing had been introduced earlier in the day.
In the far distance, they could just make out the shadows and silhouettes against the snow of bedraggled grouped civilians sheltering below the waterfront walls. Their fear of the battle raging in the city forcing them out into the severe temperature that many would succumb to during the forthcoming night. Numbers of the remaining under-nourished city inhabitants were hiding in cellars or in sewers and the people on the ice were usually fleeing fighting that had broken out in their darkened hiding places. There was now nowhere to hide or seek sanctuary in the burning city.
Tracer bullets flew across the river in both directions further north as machine gunners on either side reacted to movement or shadows they glimpsed in their binoculars. The crack of sniper fire and other small arms fire seemed to be continuous background noise to the sights before them, the remaining spirits of the two men seeming to slowly ebb away as they watched…to be gradually replaced by grim determination.
Hausser turned to Tatu, his voice lowered, ‘We will keep close to the wall along the river…that should reduce the chances of being seen in the darkness.’ He shifted his position uncomfortably, trying to see further around the bend, ‘There is a ladder some distance around the river, we will go back up into the streets there and fight our way back to the German lines.’
Tatu nodded grimly, his thoughts distracted. Then he sighed, his voice strained, ‘These are inexperienced troops, Hausser. We cannot expect them to hold for long without support. Maybe only one or two groups will escape before the communists overwhelm them.’
The German commander turned to face him, the Romanian quartermaster’s solemn face hidden in the darkness, ‘We have to try, Tatu. We owe the men that.’
The Romanian shook his head in frustration, hearing sporadic fire and an explosion behind them on the front of the building as he swallowed hard, ‘Time is too short now. I wish you well my friend, but I think it best for me to stay here for now. I will send out small groups as you signal us. We will buy you the time you need to get as many as possible away.’
Hausser exhaled heavily in annoyance, the condensed air drifting before him. Considering for a few seconds, he slowly nodded, ‘Very well, Tatu, if that is what you think is best. But you follow on as soon as you can…we will need you around the river bend. Buy me a little time, put a spotter in the damaged room above and I will signal you when the next group should leave…we will clear the way and secure the exit from the bank. If all looks hopeless, get everyone that can move out and we will try and cover your own escape.’
The Romanian smiled briefly, ‘I had better not keep you then. I will send the first group out in a moment.’ He extended his hand, Hausser slowly reaching out and grasping it, ‘Good Luck, Herr Leutnant.’ Tatu shifted uneasily and pushed himself backwards, slowly rising to a crouched position, he turned and ran towards the doorway, his footsteps crunching on the iced snow.
Hausser sighed, his emotions drained, hearing the gunfire firing out from inside the building to his right, he moved his body sideways across the snow. Cautiously, he crawled back from the mound of debris and rose to his feet. Considering the situation briefly, he grasped his MP40 tightly and slowly approached the corner of the storage tower, dropping onto his right knee, he awaited the men assigned to the first group.
Tatu ran through the small office, the guard moving to the side to let him pass, his weapon held tightly, his face solemn and pale with fear.
As Tatu entered the main building, he stopped at the foot of the stairs, a group of about ten soldiers before him either stood in the foot well or sat on the stairs. Breathless, he looked around the group, seeing all the men had covered their faces and were wearing overcoats or an additional layer of clothing.
The building shuddered as an artillery shell hit the right corner, dust and plaster falling down the staircase and landing on the collected group. Tatu drew breath, his lungs hurting from the exertion in the frozen temperature, ‘Right, the first group needs to leave. I will stay and help hold back the Russkies.’ He looked around the group observing their initial hesitation, pointing to the nearest soldier in German uniform, seeing the fear in the young man’s eyes, ‘You! Move outside, the rest follow him. When you get out there, turn to your right and report to the German officer next to the riverbank.’
The young soldier swallowed, nodding, his eyes wide. Moving slowly, he passed the Romanian quartermaster and moved into the side office, lifting his rifle from his shoulder. The other soldiers, both Romanian and German followed him, filing past Tatu. All carried grim expressions beneath the scarves wrapped round their mouths.
As the soldiers shuffled through the side office, Nicu stopped before Tatu, ‘What do you want me to do?’
Gunfire echoed around the stairwell from above as the defending soldiers reacted to movement in the street. Tatu glanced into the next large room, seeing the Romanian and German soldiers on the ground floor cautiously peering out into the darkness through gaps in their barricades.
Tatu turned back and smiled at Nicu, ‘Time for you to leave too, my friend. Hausser will need some help with the others.’ The Romanian quartermaster placed a hand on the young man’s shoulder, ‘Be careful…stay close to the officer…keep him safe.’
Nicu nodded silently, ‘Yes sir. We will clear the way for you.’ He blinked as if to clear his eyes, then turned and proceeded into the small office.
The Italian then side stepped past Tatu, his knapsack bulging with supplies and ammunition. Winking at the Romanian as he caught his eye, ‘Now I have a weapon
, it is time for the Italian Army to enter the fight.’
Tatu grinned with surprise, ‘Plenty of spirit then, keep that head safe from snipers and don’t damage that helmet…it is Romanian property!’ His voice lowered as the Italian passed him, ‘Take care out there! I want some more Italian cooking when we get out of here.’
Luca nodded as he proceeded into the office, a grin forming beneath his scarf, ‘It may not be restaurant quality, but what do you Slovaks know about that?’
Tatu shook his head, the smile falling from his face as he turned to face Hase, ‘Dumb insolent Italians!’
Hase looked into the Romanian’s eyes, seeing a determination, but also sadness. He stretched out his hand towards him.
Tatu grinned again, seeing the soldier’s reaction. Leaning forward, he flung his arms around the younger man, holding him tightly for a second, his voice shaking, ‘Take care young Hase.’ Pushing the young soldier to arm’s length, he looked him in the eyes, ‘Now go and help your friend, quickly.’ He pushed him sideways towards the office.
Hase stopped in the doorway, looked back at the two other men in the stairwell, then to Tatu. Breaking eye contact, he turned and walked briskly through the office and out into the night.
A concerned look crossed Tatu’s face, ‘Where is Meino…our Croatian?’
Petru cleared his throat, ‘He is up on the third floor, trying to teach these policemen and cooks how to defend properly!’
Udet rose from his seated position on the stairs and descended the two steps to the ground floor, wincing as the movement from the dull pain in his ribs. Looking at Tatu, he reached up, grasping the rifle strap on his shoulder and removing the weapon. Turning to Petru, he spoke softly, ‘Let’s give the Russians a battle to remember then.’
Katyusha rockets hit the roof and front of the upper stories, the explosions deafening as the sound wave passed down into the foot well. Dislodged dust and plaster fragments fell from the walls and ceiling above, showering the men as they instinctively ducked their heads. Slowly the soldiers straightened up, the two older Romanians turning and looking in disbelief at the young German, Tatu leaning forward and gently pushing him in jest, ‘Pig headed Berliners…so you want to stay with your uncles?’
Beneath his scarf, a smile cautiously formed on Petru’s face, his eyes drifting to Tatu as he indicated to Udet, ‘What floor do you want us on?’
Chapter Twenty Eight: The Russian Storm
Tatu shook his head, ‘No, I don’t think so. Udet, you must……’
‘Smoke! In the street! Smoke!’ A shout from the large ground floor room forced the three soldiers to turn abruptly. Tatu advanced into the spacious storage room, the dim illumination from the oil lamps flickering across the wide room. Small bursts of submachine gun fire echoed through the building from the upper floors as the gunners fired out at any shadows or movement.
Petru and Udet followed Tatu into the warehouse, their weapons held in both hands, noticing the large sturdy double wooden doors at the far end barricaded with sandbags and furniture. Stopping at the first window on his right, Tatu stole a glance through a gap in the sandbags.
Outside in the darkness, he could see the smoke rising from the three canisters lying in the road and against the building exterior wall. As his vision in the empty street was gradually obscured by the rising clouds, he turned to the soldier that had uttered the alarm, a puzzled expression on his face, ‘Where is the tank?’
The Romanian soldier at the next window interrupted, brandishing the antitank rifle in his hands, a grin forming on his young face, ‘He reversed back round the corner, sir. I think we killed one of the gunners and damaged his tracks…not sure he is happy!’
Tatu nodded, running his hand across his moustache, ‘Good! Now get ready…the Russians will be coming any moment.’
The smile fell from the infantryman’s face as he heard the bolts on weapons nervously being pulled by the soldiers behind him. The soldiers checking their weapons were fully loaded.
Tatu slowly walked round in a circle in the centre of the room, his voice raised as he heard further smoke canisters falling and rolling on the cobblestones outside, ‘The Russkies will be attacking any second, they are waiting for the smoke to reach the upper floors before rushing us. We need to hold them off to have any chance of escaping.’ He stopped briefly, looking across each of the faces of six apprehensive soldiers in the ground floor warehouse. Indicating with a nod to Udet and Petru, he continued, ‘We will back you up if you have to reload or are struggling…just shout out!’
Tatu paused, allowing the information to sink in, then he continued, ‘If we lose the ground floor we can probably hold them for some time in the stairwell, but our chances of escape will be then slim.’ He smiled comfortingly at Udet, the young German’s eyes showing the lines of stress. Indicating to the double doors at the end of the room, he continued, ‘The Russkies will try and come in through the end doors, through the office beyond the stairs, or in through the windows. If they get near to the windows, they will probably try and drop grenades through…we must prevent this or throw them back out.’ Noticing the smoke begin to drift in through the gaps in the sandbags, Tatu realised there was little time left to talk, sighing he looked across the determined faces of the listening soldiers, ‘That’s it comrades, we stop them or we die, understand?’
The clicking of boots pulled together echoed round the room, the chorus of ‘Yes sir!’ uttered from each soldier.
Tatu smiled briefly, then his demeanour became solemn, ‘Good Luck men.’ Turning abruptly to Udet, his eyes narrowed, ‘Udet, go upstairs and get them to drop grenades out of the windows as the Russians attack. Tell them to keep down though and not to throw them too close to the side of the building. Russian snipers will be watching the windows as soon as they attack.’ Tatu hesitated, as if to consider something, then spoke again, ‘Ask Hauptmann Becker for a couple more men, get them to cover the sewer and the office entrance…we are too weak there I think.’
Udet nodded, turned and strode swiftly from the room, ascending the stairs two at a time, the metal hobnail studs on his boots clicking on the cement steps.
Hearing a distant whistle outside, Tatu reached into the pocket of his large overcoat. Pulling out a new magazine for his submachine gun, he shook it to check the weight and changed it with the existing drum on his PPSH 41. Pointing to the windows, he raised his voice, the strain evident, ‘Here they come men, give them everything you have.’
He watched as the soldiers nervously re-assumed their positions next to the windows, most briefly glancing out into the smoke. The rattle of the MG34 above them started, the gunner firing blind into the smoke. Then another MG34 commenced firing bursts from a different part of the building.
Footsteps could be heard descending the stairs, and Petru noticed two men reach the ground floor, turning to their right. Tatu moved towards the second, middle window, his submachine gun held low, then he heard the distance rumble from the south. Shaking his head in exasperation, he exclaimed, ‘Incoming artillery, stay down! The Russkies will come straight after the artillery hits. Get Ready!’
He watched as the men along the windows drew breath, a couple swallowing hard as they lowered themselves to the sides of the windows. Tatu ran his hand across his moustache, his apprehension rising. He thought hard to clear his fear, the adrenalin coursing through his system. Considering the Russians must be about to throw a large number of soldiers against them could be the only explanation for the delay in the attack, taking some time to brief the squad leaders and organise the assault. Looking up he caught Petru’s eye, realising his countryman was thinking the same from his expression.
Heavy calibre artillery shells smashed into the tower, hitting the upper floors and roof. The building shuddered, whole sections of plaster and cement falling from ceilings onto the floors and infantrymen below. Oil lamps were knocked over with the impact, their contents spilling out and spreading rapidly across the floors. The oil igniting and
causing small fires that the soldiers stamped on in attempts to extinguish the flames.
The wounded on the fifth floor lay frightened and apprehensively against the walls for cover, the Italian soldier assigned to orderly duties attempting some encouragement. As the shells hit, beams and cement from the ceiling shattered and collapsed on the helpless men, huddled together. One of the last shells exploding on the floor above, having penetrated the weakened roof. The immense explosion blew a hole in the ceiling, the ensuing blast wave killing most of the wounded men, their ear drums and lungs perforating, being unable to resist the physical shock imposed on their weakened bodies by the blast constrained within the room’s walls. The barricades on the windows, sandbags and supply boxes were blown out of the openings, dropping into the street below. The Italian orderly, hit by the falling masonry was also killed in the blast, his broken body thrown brutally against the northern wall facing the river in the shock wave.
The two upper floors now caught alight after the high explosive shelling. The flames initially rising dramatically into the night sky as destroyed oil supplies, stores and wooden beams instantly combusted and burned out of control. A hoarse cheer rising from the on-looking Russian infantry in the streets below, the sight providing welcome encouragement after consuming their pre-attack vodka ration.
Below ground, in the sewer, the young German military policeman was picking his way cautiously along the tunnel having entered from the collapsed section. The twenty-year-old had only arrived at Stalingrad the month before and had been posted to the southern suburbs two days before the Russian offensive began. Previously he had been assigned to guarding rail wagons and supervising prisoner groups, far from the front lines, which ill prepared him for this experience. He gripped his rifle tightly as he advanced towards the junction in the tunnel, his knuckles white against the weapon beneath his gloves. His breath now short and shallow, his adrenalin seeming overwhelming as it heightened his senses and made him light headed and slightly nauseous.
Bloody Stalingrad Page 24